The Marriage Mart
by octoberdog
Summary: Sookie Stackhouse is carted off to Bath for the Season with hopes of catching a wealthy husband. Courted by three men - a rake, a scoundrel and a handsome nobleman - Sookie must choose who will be her future. Historical romance, A/H, slightly OOC
1. The Speculation

**A/N:Hi all! I'm sure most of you were expecting an update of _A Country Courtship_. Don't worry, I haven't abandoned the story. It was jsut getting a bit too heavy for me and I needed a break from the angst! I have written most of the next chapter and will hopefully update it in the next week or so, but I really needed a break from it... so please don't be too upset with me!  
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**Soooooo, I have decided to write a light-hearted romp just to clear my head a bit. I had this idea floating around in my brain for a wee while now and this past weekend had a massive burst of inspiration. Basically, two weekends ago, I read Georgette Heyer's (F***ing LOVE Georgette Heyer) _Bath Tangle _and could not stop thinking about it! If you haven't read it or any of Georgette Heyer's novels, then I highly recommend that you do. She is THE QUEEN of the Regency romance and her books are always well-researched, meticulous in its detail and fun. I loved this book so much that I wanted to write my own, very loose, more modern version of it. Not a carbon-copy of the plot at all, but the ideas are there and so is the location of Bath.**

**There will be a bit of mystery and intrigue, lots of ballroom scenes and more suitors for our dear Sookie. Pam will also make an appearance as she is missing from _A Country Courtship. _Not sure how hot and heavy the lemons will get, but I will definitely try to squeeze them in where I can!  
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**So, I hope you enjoy it - let me know what you think! If the response is positive then I will definitely carry on! R&R...  
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><p><strong><em><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own SVM or True Blood nor am I affiliated with HBO in anyway. SVM and True Blood belong to Charlaine Harris, Alan Ball and the good people at HBO. I am only using these characters for the purpose of this story.<strong>_**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: The Speculation<strong>

'It cannot be,' Mrs. Stackhouse said, shocked. 'It would be most improper.'

'Nonsense,' said Lady Marksby. She was not a woman to waste time or to waste her words. 'It is the only thing. _That_ should be quite obvious.'

The two ladies sat side by side on a very shabby sofa at one end of the large parlour of Hill Grange. They were sisters and had been known before their respective marriages as the handsome Hale girls. The resemblance between them was strong, although Lady Caroline Bellefleur, Countess Marksby had become sharp-faced while her sister, Adele Stackhouse, was plump and billowing. Lady Marksby was dressed in the height of fashion. Her morning dress of Indian mull muslin with coquelicot ribbons caused a great envy in her sister, who was as shabby as her son's house and whose granddaughters were only saved by their youth from looking equally forlorn.

The three young ladies sat at the pianoforte at the other end of the parlour, where they were singing a glee. Since their music master had been dismissed, their father had directed that part of their mornings to be spent in practice, knowing that otherwise their grandmother would keep them busy about the house. They made a charming group in their plain white muslin toilettes, but never were three girls so different.

'I can understand that you can only afford to take one, sister,' Mrs. Stackhouse said plaintively. 'But by any standard of decorum it must be Hettie. She is eldest.'

Hadley, or Hettie as she was affectionately called, was a good-looking girl, considered by most to be a beauty. She was tall and graceful, pale, with dark blond hair and fine brown eyes. In the critical view of her aunt, however, there was a certain languor in her manner, a lack of vivacity and sparkle very allowable in a lady of fashion, but it would not do to catch the eye in a ballroom crowded with many pretty girls.

The youngest girl, Arlene, now crowing with laughter over her failure to manage her part and scattering her music on the floor, was like her deceased mother, red-headed and silly – vivacious it was true, but far too much so. Lennie was a romp. Her aunt dismissed her as a bride for a simple country fellow.

But the middle girl, who had been playing the pianoforte with brilliant execution and taste, caused her aunt to gaze with approval. Such beauty, elegance and distinction all together were rare indeed. Even with no portion at all, 'We might just bring it off,' Lady Marksby said meditatively.

'You are partial to Sookie,' said Mrs. Stackhouse, very cross, not at all concerned that the music having stopped, her granddaughters could now hear her words plainly.

Lady Marksby's glance, as she observed Sookie, was less like that of a fond relation than that of a horse dealer at Tattersall's. She took in the girl's carriage and air, her superior figure, her long golden hair fashionably dressed by her own hands, her elegantly arched brows and sweeping lashes over shining bright blue eyes set off by a complexion not fair, not too rosy, but lightly golden and exquisitely clear, with so very much the lady in it – no one would consider that this girl was country bred.

'_Susannah_, sister,' Lady Marksby corrected. 'A lady of quality cannot be known by such a strange pet name as _Sookie_. And yes, it must be Susannah,' she pronounced.

Mrs. Stackhouse was silent.

_Adele has always been obstinate_, Lady Marksby thought. After she herself had made a fine marriage to Lord Andrew Bellefluer, fifth Earl of Marksby, a man of good fortune and extensive property only slightly encumbered by a family of three children from his first wife, Adele had disobliged her family by marrying rather beneath her. Mr. Earl Stackhouse had been a handsome, learned, pleasant young man of decent family. He had no fortune, however, and his only maintenance was the living of Hill Grange – a very poor living, but with a fine and commodious manor house and two hundred acres of land. At that time, he had had some hopes of preferment and his bride had even more. These hopes had come to nothing, and upon his death, the living and house had passed on to their only son Corbett.

Adele Stackhouse now regarded the Grange, which once had seemed so pretty and desirable, as a detestable place. Hill Grange, set in low-lying meadows, was full of fog in the damp weather and lowering to the spirits. She blamed fortune and not herself for her disappointments. Her husband had died, leaving her land rich, but virtually penniless. As the land was entailed, they could not even sell it to bolster their meager living. All her hopes were pinned on her mild, kind son Corbett. Unfortunately for Adele, Corbett took after his father in more than just appearance. It soon became clear to all and sundry, that Corbett lacked the necessary ambition needed to rise above one's station, preferring his books and gentlemanly country pursuits. He grew more and more unworldly as the years passed. He had done relatively well to marry a girl with an adequate fortune, but that money was to be settled upon Jason, her only grandson and heir to Hill Grange, once he reached the age of majority, leaving very little for the girls. To place her son and grandson in the world, Adele had to stir herself mightily, but now she had to appeal to her childless sister for some help with securing her granddaughters' futures.

'You know how it is with me, sister,' Lady Marksby said firmly. 'We live well, but I don't have much at my disposal. Lord Marksby has given me funds for one Season, enough to take a good house and to keep my carriage in Bath, and I can manage the clothes from what I have put by. But the one Season will be all. Lord Marksby hates Bath almost as much as Town, and you know how pressed he is by his own boys' gambling debts. I can only go to Town myself if I stay with his pinch-purse sister in Kensington.'

She sighed, for she longed to take her place among the first-rates, but it could not be done from that unfashionable quarter. An old friend, a Mrs. Hawes, had a house on Brook Street and she wondered if that lady might be induced to invite her for a long stay that winter. But she turned her mind back to the matter in hand.

'This is a – a speculation, sister. We must try to be sure that all is not lost. Settle one girl and she can take her sisters into company.'

'But to bring the youngest forward,' Mrs. Stackhouse moaned, forgetting young Lennie as people mostly did.

Two of the three sisters sat and listened with mouths agape. Sookie, with the breeding that her aunt admired, had quietly left the room and could be seen from the open window, equipped with hat, gloves, and secateurs, tidying up the dying flowers that were blistered by the August sun.

'And not so young,' Lady Marksby said bluntly. 'Twenty years old. And Hadley is–'

'Pray don't, sister.' Mrs. Stackhouse felt it vulgar to mention that Hadley was almost twenty-four.

'I don't blame the girls,' Lady Marksby said with a shrug. 'You don't take them into company.'

'How can I, keeping no carriage,' her sister fretted. 'We can only go where we can walk. The girls learned to ride horses borrowed from the farms. And there is no house for miles around superior to the merest farmhouse. Sometimes Lady Bonham, Sir Giles' widow, asks us to dine with the older girls and send her carriage, but only if she has no other company. She has five girls of her own.'

'If I'm to marry off a portionless girl,' Lady Marksby said with finality, 'it will be Susannah. Otherwise, you must manage alone, sister. A gentleman with a decent maintenance is all we can expect, though we will aim a little higher. But I think I can promise that you will not have her back on your hands this winter. And after all,' she tried to be comforting, 'Hadley has had an offer.'

'The merest curate with no living, nor any hope of one,' Mrs. Stackhouse said and groaned.

'Poor gentlemens' daughters marry curates, what else can you expect? Cherwell?'

The name sprang to her mind as that extremely eligible but elusive nobleman who had been almost the sole subject of talk in Town that spring during Lady Marksby's all too short a stay. The scene made by his mistress, Mrs. Pamela Ravenscroft, at Almack's was beyond the pale. But such Town scandals meant nothing to her country sister and so she went on.

'If Susannah marries a man of property, he might have a living in his gift, so look more cheerful, sister, and let us consider it settled. Susannah comes with me to Bath in September. And I hear that young Jason has his cornetcy at last.'

'Yes, my dear Jason, and he is to be made a lieutenant soon, we think. But then he will be sent to that dreadful campaign in the Peninsular, I have no doubt.' Mrs. Stackhouse was all gloom. 'I have no luck, Caro, no luck at all.'

'Well, my dearest Addy. I think your fortune is about to change,' said Lady Marksby, looking to Sookie once more with a calculating smile.

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><p><em><strong>So? Love it, hate it, indifferent?<strong>_


	2. The Slave Block

**A/N: Sorry all for the confusion yesterday! I thought this chapter had been posted but it was actually deleted! Anyway I have re-posted it now and hopefully there won't be any more problems. can be so silly sometimes!**

** Thank you all so much for the incredible response to chapter 1! You all are absolutely fantastic and I hope you enjoy chapter 2. I won't blabber on too long, juts want to tell you all how much I appreciate each and every one of you for reading, reviewing, alerting, and favouriting!**

**R&R!**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own SVM or True Blood nor am I affiliated with HBO in anyway. SVM and True Blood belongs to Charlaine Harris, Alan Ball and the good people at HBO. I am only using these characters for the purpose of this story.<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: The Slave Block<strong>

Lady Marksby, driving into Bath through the crowded streets amid the clatter of many fine carriages, with her lovely grandniece at her side, full of plans and with the prospect of a delightful six weeks ahead, was all happiness. Her niece, who had been lectured all through the journey about what she must do, what she could expect and, above all the utter dependence of her family upon her finding a suitable husband in six weeks, had feelings decidedly mixed. At the moment, dismay was the chief.

The house that Lady Marksby had taken for their stay was small, but elegant, like so many houses in Bath, on a fashionable crescent and furnished in luxurious style. The servants she had engaged were at the door to bid the mistress welcome, and she surveyed all with complacency. In truth, she reflected, it would have been easy enough to accommodate another niece, and even the cost of dressing two girls beside herself would not greatly signify, but she had no notion of cluttering up her house with two penniless girls for the marriage market. One rare beauty like Susannah was enough for amusement; another niece would be labour indeed.

She was not a woman to rest, however, when there were necessary tasks to be done.

'Tomorrow morning, Susannah,' she said at dinner, 'we must see about new gowns, shoes, shawls – everything must be new before we can visit the Rooms. It was good of your Grandmamma to provide you with a new pelisse for the journey, but it is not what I have in mind for you at all. Since your time is so short, my dear, everything you have must be such as will catch the eye – in the most proper manner of course. We must be discriminating.'

Despite the pleasing prospect of new clothes, Sookie found herself downcast.

'Sounds more like a slave auction than an entrance into polite society,' Sookie mumbled.

'Susannah! I am surprised at you. Such and indelicate remark!' Lady Marksby exclaimed. 'I hope you do not intend to talk in public of the slave trade. For a young girl, it would not be at all the thing. The Abolition, of course, is much talked about by young gentlemen, and here, so near to Bristol, the question is troublesome indeed. Young ladies are expected to confine themselves to pleasing topics.'

'I was contemplating the trade in female flesh at home rather than the slave trade abroad, dear Aunt.'

Lady Marskby was truly shocked, but remained silent, not wanting to encourage her niece further on the topic. The Bath marriage mart was hardly the slave trade and Susannah would do well to remember that.

Sookie looked at her aunt, biting her lip to prevent further argument. She could not help wishing that Hadley had been chosen instead of herself, and yet, in all honesty she had to admit to no great reluctance in finding herself in Bath. A little change from the sameness of her country existence, to be away from her Grandmama's peevish temper, were at least partial goods.

Certainly the discussion of muslins, sarcenet, and gauzes was agreeable to the female mind, even such a superior one as Sookie's, and the carriage rides about Town, the visits to the shops crammed with all manner of fashionable goods, the delicious food that Lady Marksby commanded from her kitchen – so different from the plain fare of the Grange – kept Sookie's spirits high in spite of the ordeal before her.

On the occasion of their first visit to the Assembly Rooms, Lady Marksby regarded her charge with an approving eye. _Nothing could have been done better_, she thought. She had dressed Sookie in the utmost simple elegance, a gown of white gauze, straight but very subtly clinging to her form, bound high under the breasts with silver cords that matched the silver fillets in her golden hair.

All seemed to be in train, but when they reached the ballroom, a little late to make a better entrance, she received a disagreeable surprise. The Season was early for Bath and she had expected only a small gathering with plenty of room to show off her niece to the gentlemen who were just newly arrived. Instead, the place was so full there was hardly room for them to get through the crush.

'Let us go to the Tea Room, Susannah. We can make our way here, behind these benches. I am certain to see someone I know. We will have a gentleman get us tea, and we can sit until the crowd thins a little.'

'Yes, Aunt,' Sookie complied, happy to leave to the heaving crowds in the ballroom.

They gained the Tea Room in safety, but as they were entering a burly shorn-haired man with a florid complexion and a look of being uncomfortable in his closely fitting dress coat pushed forwards rudely and trod on the hem of Lady Marksby's skirt.

'Ahem!' he said staring at Sookie. Something about his pansy-coloured eyes and hard stare made Sookie feel decidedly uncomfortable. 'Beg your pardon ma'am,' he addressed Lady Marksby. 'Beg your pardon indeed.'

Lady Marksby nodded coldly. It seemed that anyone and everyone was coming to Bath these days. This man had hardly the look of a gentleman. Her lace was torn and she was not certain that it could be mended.

'My new gown,' she began to complain to her niece, but then her attention was taken up by a smart-looking woman of her own age who was seated alone at a table and who hailed her with joy.

'Caroline, my dear! What happiness to see you in this horrid crowd. Pray _do_ be seated. My sad husband has escaped into the card room, but I have persuaded dear Mr. Compton to fetch me some tea, and I am sure he will bring some for you and – let me see, you must be Miss Stackhouse. Caroline has spoken to me of all you Stackhouse girls.'

Lady Marksby, gladly sinking into a chair, told her niece that Mrs. Jane Bodehouse was a friend of her girlhood, whom she saw on her rare visits to Town, and in whose company she had been just before going down to Hill Grange.

'When we were all talking of _that_ night at Almack's,' Mrs. Bodehouse recalled, giving the impression to some ladies nearby that she had actually been to Almack's, which was not the case. Neither Mrs. Bodehouse nor Lady Marksby had the entrée to that exclusive establishment, but the ladies were visibly impressed, which gave Mrs. Bodehouse much satisfaction.

Lady Marksby laughed at this sally, the humour of which was a mystery to Sookie, and then Mrs. Bodehouse admired her friend's young companion and told her she would have all the beaux at her feet.

'Even in this crowd,' she said, 'Miss Stackhouse is outstanding. You are going to be a first favourite with me, I assure you. Your name is Hadley, is it not?'

'Thank you, ma'am,' Sookie said politely, rather wishing Mrs. Bodehouse would save her compliments until she was absent, 'but I am Susannah Stackhouse.'

'Susannah?' Mrs. Bodehouse frowned and then looked at Lady Marksby. 'But I don't remember your telling me–'

Rather nettled, Lady Marksby did not answer, but Sookie explained.

'My sister Hadley, Miss Stackhouse, is still in the country.'

'And there is another, is there not? Arlene?' Mrs. Bodehouse was looking amused.

'Yes, ma'am. She, too, is with Grandmama at Hill Grange.'

'Oh you naughty thing, Caroline!' Mrs. Bodehouse laughed and tapped Lady Marksby's arm with her fan. 'You are bringing out this young beauty and leaving the eldest to pine. Plain-faced, is she?'

'Certainly not! They are handsome girls indeed. But my niece Hadley – there is no engagement _announced_, you understand, but there soon will be. And as far as Arlene is concerned – she is too young yet to be fully out in society. There is also a gentleman of the neighbourhood who is paying her most particular attentions and will undoubtedly offer for her as soon as Hadley's betrothal is announced. A proper sense of decorum,' she added hastily, but to no avail.

Mrs. Bodehouse, who delighted in a little malice, was not for a moment deceived. 'I see it all. You went down to Hill Grange, a fairy godmother, to wave your magic wand over the oft-overlooked middle daughter. And you, my dear,' she turned to Sookie, 'are the Cinderella.'

Both aunt and niece at that moment could cheerfully have wished her dead, or at least back in London.

'Mrs. Bodehouse,' said a young man who had come up behind her, carrying a tray of refreshments, and was gazing down on the group with great pleasure. 'I have brought you your tea, and you must repay me by letting me meet your friends.'

William Compton smiled in frank, open admiration at the new beauty.

'Pray let me meet Cinderella. And her charming godmother, of course.'

He turned his gaze to Lady Marksby, who praised him mentally as a young man with much address. There was, indeed, nothing about him that could not be admired. He seemed to be no more than eight and twenty; his countenance was open and charming; he was handsome and dark, but not swarthy; his form was just what a young man's should be, and he was smartly attired with a hint of the Dandy about him.

Mrs. Bodehouse made the necessary introductions and then Mr. Compton went off to forage for tea for the other ladies. Sookie, who had wanted to dance, found that she did not mind this delay as much as she had expected. She was glad to have a place; the Tea Room was becoming very crowded now that the dance was over and newcomers could not find a table. And, although she thought Mrs. Bodehouse an ill-mannered woman, Mr. Compton seemed a most unexceptionable young man.

'I should have thought you would have met Mr. Compton in Town, Caroline,' Mrs. Bodehouse said. 'He is very much the thing. It is said that he has been quite taken up by the _ton_. He has been kind enough to amuse me. I really cannot think why I came. Mr. Bodehouse will not dance, and this crush is such a bore! And yet what is there to do in Bath, if one does not come to the Rooms? It is too bad that Mr. Bodehouse is gouty, I vow! But now that you are here, I will be very well amused. We will watch Miss Susannah dance later, for I am sure Mr. Compton will ask her.'

This sounded promising, but Sookie's attention was caught for a moment by an unusual sight. There had been much jockeying for places at the tables by the latecomers and, as the dancing had not yet resumed, no one seemed inclined to leave the seats they had found. But quite suddenly a party to the right, of three men and women, stood, bowed, and courteously made way for a group that had just arrived consisting of two ladies and a gentleman.

Sookie could soon see that one lady was older, around her aunt's age, the other, though tall and full-formed, only a girl, with red hair and a lovely face. They were extremely well-dressed – the young lady in the new style, the old one dignified in the paniered skirts that had been the mode in her youth. Her air was such that an old-fashioned dress, rich and new, gained distinction for its wearer. The gentleman was tall, extraordinarily so, and commanding in appearance; the impression made by his exquisite clothes, which would have graced a dandy, was somewhat belied by his strong, handsome features and stern expression. His blond hair, styled _à la Brutus_ gleamed in the candlelight, his eyes were a glacial blue, and his full lips were tensed in a sneer. He was, in Sookie's opinion, astonishingly beautiful. His hauteur and that of the elder lady were marked, and their effect was obvious to the watchers as the crowd made way for the little group to pass.

Whispers could be heard passing round the room, causing a loud, disconcerting buzzing.

'Cherwell!' Lady Marksby whispered. 'Cherwell, by all that's wonderful. I never thought to see the Duke of Cherwell among the misses and mammas of Bath.'

Mrs. Bodehouse's face lit up with delight in a fine piece of gossip.

'He detests it above all things, from what I have heard.'

Even the vulgar Mrs. Bodehouse, Sookie noticed, kept her voice decently hushed when in earshot of the Duke.

'But he has his reasons. I will tell you later.' Mrs. Bodehouse went on, with many significant looks. 'That, is his mother, the Dowager Duchess. She often comes for the waters – her health is precarious at best, poor lady, _since the accident_. The girl is Miss Hamby, a very rich heiress and his ward. Troublesome,' she whispered into Lady Marksby's ear.

Sookie was becoming embarrassed and was glad to see the ebullient Mr. Compton back with tea for the ladies, which he placed before them.

'For the fairy godmother and Cinderella,' he cried, unaware of, or unabashed by, the nobility close at hand.

Startled, Eric Northman, 8th Duke of Cherwell, looked away from his own party, where he had been helping his mother to her seat, and met Sookie's gaze. His eyes rested on her for a moment, and she wondered if he would, as many of the young gallants in the room had done, put up his quizzing glass, but he was either too well bred or did not find her of sufficient interest, and his cool glance returned to his own party.

_A proud man_, Sookie conjectured, _probably feeling himself above his company_. _Well, he was a duke_, she supposed. _And not yet thirty_. She turned to Mr. Compton, who was paying her absurd compliments, laughing and joking with the other two ladies, imploring her to finish her tea and to dance, declaring that the music would start again at any moment and he must not be denied the pleasure of leading her into the set.

They danced together, and Sookie found she was delighted to be at a ball. It was a great pleasure to dance, and Mr. Compton was an ideal partner. He was handsome and graceful. His step was light and confident, and when they stood for a moment, working their way up the set, he whispered, 'You are certainly the belle of the evening, Miss Stackhouse. Pray, take pity, madam, for every other girl at the ball and all mammas are sadly out of countenance.'

She laughed at his folly. 'Please, Mr. Compton, so much gallantry will surely drive me back to the Grange, for shame.'

'I must mend my ways then and put on more solemn looks.' He took on so absurdly serious a mien that she was forced to laugh again. 'I could not bear to think of you returned to country life for my sake. "Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert air",' he quoted wickedly.

'Why, Mr. Compton, your knowledge of the country is as faulty as your common sense,' Sookie reproved him. 'I have lived in Oxfordshire all my life and have yet to find any deserts there.'

'Oxfordshire has far more than its deserts, if you reside there, madam,' he said, but before she could reproach him for punning, the dance had borne them apart.

Sookie could hardly have enjoyed her evening more. Mr. Compton, when he was not complimenting, was most pleasantly conversable. Although he was obviously a Smart in Town, he had no airs beyond what was pleasing and proper. As she could know none of the people of his set, he talked to her of books and music and proved that his knowledge of poetry was not confined to the better-known passages that nearly all can quote. In turn he admired her learning, declared it beyond that of any female of his acquaintance and yet, he assured her, she bore it with such grace as to make learning the fashion. He begged her permission to send her some books and to take her to concerts and expressed a great desire to hear her play. She took all this with seeming composure, but so much admiration from such a charming man could not fail to please. If she were not such a sensible girl, Sookie believed she could fall in love with Mr. Compton.

It must be confessed that Sookie's enjoyment was not really marred by the sight of so many ladies sitting down for want of partners as she surveyed the room. It was in fact a beautiful room; now that the crowd had thinned out a little, she could see it plain. The brilliance of the chandeliers lighting up the quiet splendor of the gentlemen and the gay elegance of the ladies made for her a happy and memorable scene.

Only two incidents slightly marred her pleasure: Mrs. Bodehouse ogling the Duke of Cherwell, who was sitting with his mother watching his ward dance; and later, surprisingly, her Aunt Marksby in conversation with the awkward florid man who had spoiled her dress.

The rest was all . Compton never strayed far from her side and she basked in his compliments and warm words.

Owing to a slight accident to one of Lady Marksby's carriage horses the previous day, aunt and niece had been obliged to arrive at the ball in a hired chaise. Mrs. Bodehouse offered to take them home and when Mr. Compton handed Sookie into the Bodehouse barouche, pleading with her aunt to be allowed to make an early call, to walk her to the Lower Rooms, Sookie felt her first evening in Society must be considered a success.

The two elder ladies seemed equally satisfied, if more tranquil, their minds being chiefly engaged with the Duke.

'His ward seems full young to be out,' Lady Marksby remarked.

'Miss Hamby has not yet been presented in Town,' Mrs. Bodehouse explained. 'It was the Dowager's idea to have her in Bath, to keep the girl under her eye. There was great talk, last Season, that Miss Hamby had tried to elope with some dreadful, unsuitable person, and the Duke, who never wanted guardianship, is beside himself. She escaped from her governess – they say he is looking for some respectable woman of good birth to live with her, as governess and companion. She would need to be one of strong character. The best thing for such a girl in my opinion would be to marry her off young. That is what she needs. And with her birth and fortune, you know, it should be no problem.'

'Well, I suppose it was not such a hardship for his grace to come to Bath this year.' Lady Marksby was smiling. 'He must be just as pleased to get away from his usual set.'

'Mrs. Ravenscroft is a fool,' Mrs. Bodehouse said and nodded, 'if she thinks to marry the Duke by making scenes. But,' she went on, leaning away from Sookie and lowering her voice, 'she had been his mistress for so many years, you know, that when her husband died this spring she really had expectations. After all, she is quite of the _ton_ and I expect that in spite of the dukedom and the Cherwell fortune, she thinks he is not beyond her dessert.'

Sookie could hear quite plainly. Just as she had believed, then, the Duke was disagreeably proud. True, the lady in question seemed not to have been what she should – the Duke's mistress and wife to another man – yet the world of Town, Sookie knew, was far from that of Hill Grange. She dismissed the thought and considered the pleasure of her own evening.

When Mrs. Bodehouse set them down at their door, she turned to Sookie and congratulated her.

'You have made an important conquest, my dear. I rather believe,' she said smiling, 'that you are to receive an offer, not to be despised and on your first entrée.'

Sookie gasped a little as she followed her aunt into the house. That Mr. Compton had admired her was obvious, but that he should have hinted to the chaperons an offer so soon – she could not pretend the idea was completely disagreeable. She could admit to herself that she liked Mr. Compton, very much so. There was something in his air that was decidedly friendly and open. He made her laugh and he was witty and charming. But for all her flights of fancy and love of poetry, Sookie was at heart a sensible creature. She was not one to act impetuously. No, she would have to know more of Mr. Compton before she could seriously consider his proposal, but she had to allow that he had made a fair beginning in her esteem and she was intrigued by him.

But her day was not to end on so happy a note. Although she was quite ready for her bed when they arrived home, for she was not used to late hours, she found that Lady Marksby had ordered a supper and she asked Sookie to join her. Sookie, from politeness and gratitude, acceded without demur, accepted her aunt's praises with good grace and, to her surprise, received as well a little scolding.

In spite of the late hour, Lady Marksby's face in the candlelight looked wide-awake and her glance was sharp.

'I heard you talking much of books to Mr. Compton.' She shook her head. 'That will never do, Susannah. Learning is for a governess, not young ladies. I fear your father has instructed you too much. Pray forget it. I do not mean your music and drawing, accomplishments are all very well, but if you talk so much of books you will be known as a blue-stocking and there is nothing more likely to turn the men off.'

'Oh, I do so apologise, Aunt. I did not know that my role was solely to be seen and admired. I will endeavour to seem more ignorant in future,' said Sookie with a touch of asperity.

Lady Marksby drank some wine and looked a little more benevolent.

'Of course, child, of course. I sometimes forget that you are not yet knowledgeable in the ways of Society. Do not look so downcast, gel. As it was only to Mr. Compton, it does not matter. But please _do not_ talk of books to Mr. Quinn, I beg you.'

Sookie could not think who Mr. Quinn was, but it was her aunt's remark about Mr. Compton that piqued her curiosity. She was not surprised or distressed at her aunt's strictures on blue-stockings; she had heard her father and grandmother quarrel on the subject for years. But why did her aunt think that this did not matter in the case of Mr. Compton? Did she mean he was already so much in love with her that this grave fault of learning would not deter him? Sookie was a clever girl and could not believe one evening's work could do so much.

She was also direct.

'Why does it not matter that I spoke of books to Mr. Compton?'

Her aunt raised her eyebrows. 'Well, my dear – of course, you were dancing when Jane Bodehouse was telling me about him. You may not care too much for Jane's manner, child' – Sookie was uncomfortable as she became aware of her aunt's shrewdness and only hoped that her own demeanor had not appeared uncivil to Mrs. Bodehouse – 'but she is not to be despised. She is a woman of large fortune; she has a fine house in the best part of Town. Mr. Bodehouse is quite looked up to, and if she is not precisely one of the first-rates she has a large acquaintance and goes almost everywhere. She knows everyone worth knowing about and can be quite helpful, I assure you. In fact, she has already been of great assistance. Do not let your head be turned by the admiration of Mr. Compton.'

Sookie felt a certain dismay that she did not as yet quite comprehend.

Lady Marksby continued. 'I would not call him a young puppy, for his manner and address are unexceptionable. But like so many young men, he is known to run after a new, pretty face, and none of the Comptons, my dear, are going to marry without family and fortune. He is an extravagant young man, too, and a gamester. Jane told me all. He has been through one fortune already, left to him by an aunt, and his parents are holding the purse strings on him very tight at the moment. Indulged, even spoiled he may be, but he cannot try them too far.'

Sookie's misgivings grew.

'But Mrs. Bodehouse said–' Sookie faltered, not wanting to seem quite a fool.

'Mrs. Bodehouse?' Lady Marksby took her attention from her plate and gazed at her niece in surprise. 'Surely you did not mistake! You must have seen his admiring looks; he sat with us all evening. We promised him the introduction to you. As you were dancing with Mr. Compton, you were not present when I made the promise. Mr. Quinn will call here tomorrow morning. He was so greatly impressed with you, my dear,' she smiled, 'that I think Jane quite right. I can foresee an offer from Mr. Quinn. And from all I've heard from Jane, you might well consider it.'

'Who is Mr. Quinn?' Sookie said faintly.

'Mr. John Quinn is a gentleman of good fortune, from the countryside hereabouts. He recently retired his captaincy from His Majesty's Navy as he has only newly acquired his fortune, it is true, at the death of some relatives' – Lady Marksby paused until the servants had left the room, lowering her voice as she spoke again – '_who were in trade_. But as they are dead, they do not signify. He is a man of some property and although Jane believes it was once not much superior to a large farm, since his inheritance he has extended his holdings, improved his house, begun to give dinners, and he is now looking for a well-bred wife. He will take his place in the squirearchy.'

Sookie was silent, her face stony. She had a sinking feeling that all would not end well for her. She had no delusions that she would marry for love. Love was a rare and fickle thing, available only to the lower orders. But she had hoped to have some say in her choice of husband. Looking at her aunt, she knew that would not be the case.

'But you must have seen Mr. Quinn, Susannah. He was the gentleman who was so unfortunate as to tread on my gown in that dreadful crush at the door of the Tea Room. But he apologised to me very handsomely later on. Yes, I think if you get no better offer, you might very well take Mr. Quinn. Six thousand a year and no encumbrances of any sort. Why, he is a veritable catch!'

Sookie felt decidedly ill.

'Mr. Quinn,' she whispered, aghast. 'But he is so old, Aunt.'

'I would hardly call forty old, child. Why, Mr. Quinn is a man in his prime. Capable of giving you many children – strapping boys! Oh, and I hear he is a sporting sort. Exactly what a spirited lady needs,' her aunt said, purposely ignoring her niece's obvious distress with her jovial observation.

As soon as she decently could, Sookie left her aunt sitting over dried cherries and sweetmeats and rushed up to her room. She looked out of her window, but there was no comfort of gardens and fields to quiet her agitation; her room looked out over the Crescent to the houses on the other side. A dandy, driving himself home in his curricle, saw her there framed by the candlelight and gave her an impudent bow. She withdrew, disconsolate, her thoughts whirling about her.

The gallantry of Mr. Compton, then, that she had thought so marked, meant nothing. She was merely amusement for a young man spending a few weeks in Bath before the festivities of Town. And she was to consider such a man as Mr. Quinn. Her spirits failed her. The thought of spending the rest of her days shackled to a man such as he….

_No, I could not bear it! Bath truly is a slave market_, Sookie thought angrily, as she spent the first night of her debut in Society with her pillow wet with tears and her sleep broken by fearful dreams of a florid face, pansy coloured eyes and a bald, shining head.

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><p><em><strong>Please review!<strong>_


	3. The Reluctant Cinderella

**A/N: Thanks again for all of the reviews, alerts and general love and good vibes you all are giving out. You guys are awesome! **

**Here is chapter three. It's a loooong one - probably to make up for the long update wait. I am working on the next chapter as we speak and am also working on the next chapter of _A Country Courtship._ Though I am not sure I will update _ACC_ before Christmas. Work is ridiculous at the moment and with it being the holidays and all update will probably be quite slow. I will do my best!**

**Anyway, I hope you all like it - R&R!**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own SVM or True Blood nor am I affiliated with HBO in anyway. SVM and True Blood belongs to Charlaine Harris, Alan Ball and the good people at HBO. I am only using these characters for the purpose of this story.<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: The Reluctant Cinderella<strong>

The next morning Sookie was soothed by the receipt of a letter from her sister Hettie. Hettie, who had long ago taken over much of the family correspondence from their grandmother, had an easy, amplifying style that made much of all small events of the household. She wrote tranquilly of the preparations for the Harvest Festival, of a morning visit to the Greys – it seemed the eldest daughter perhaps would be married at last and there was talk of a ball – and of the state of her rose garden. Poor Lennie had a swollen face from a bee sting, but the rest of them were in fine health.

Sookie was thankful to be taken back for a time to thoughts of Hill Grange, which seemed safe and warm compared to the new and frightening society of Bath. She understood, however, all the things her sister would not say: her feelings about Remy Savoy, the poor curate of Lower Mumford, fifteen miles off, with whom she had formed an attachment a long four years ago, with still no prospect of their hopes being fulfilled; her family's worry over their scapegrace brother Jason; the vivacious Lennie, reined in at home; and Papa – poor put upon Papa.

The family were relying on Sookie to do the best she could for all their sakes. She _must _be sensible and make the most of her remaining weeks. Or they were all doomed.

By mid-morning, Sookie's spirits were much improved and almost quite restored when Lady Marksby proposed a visit to the Pump Room directly after Mr. Quinn's call. It was a fine day and Sookie begged to walk, and Lady Marksby agreed benevolently.

To Sookie's great annoyance, when Mr. Quinn arrived and learned of their plan, he declared his own intention of visiting the Pump Room. He walked out with the ladies. His face looking redder than ever and his head polished to a mirror shine in the morning light, and pressed Lady Marksby and Sookie to avail themselves of his carriage. Sookie was about to decline, but Lady Marksby was already being handed up by his coachman.

With what seemed an excess of gallantry, Mr. Quinn rushed to assist Sookie. His broad and meaty hand squeezed her arm, and his hulking form was uncomfortably close. She sprang up quickly to sit beside Lady Marksby and he joined them, grinning widely. He seemed to take up a lot of room in the carriage, but he and Lady Marksby conversed with each other whilst Sookie vacantly stared out of the window, hoping to arrive at the Pump Room with all haste.

To Sookie's dismay, once they entered the Room, Mr. Quinn did not join any friends of his own but stayed at her side.

'Miss Stackhouse, please allow me the pleasure of a turn about the Room,' said Mr. Quinn, holding out his arm to Sookie expectantly.

Sookie looked momentarily panicked and sought her aunt's assistance, but Lady Marksby was occupied with her three glasses of water that had been ordered by her physician.

'I, ah, Mr. Quinn… that is to say–' thankfully, Sookie was saved from having to answer by Mrs. Bodehouse's timely arrival.

'My _dear_ Caroline! Is it not marvelous!' said Mrs. Bodehouse, beckoning to Lady Marksby and Sookie to join her.

Sookie was overcome with relief and was quite happy to see Mrs. Bodehouse standing by one of the fluted columns in a striking morning gown of daffodil silk.

'Jane, how marvelous indeed,' Lady Marksby remarked taking her place beside her girlhood friend.

Sookie had not been _looking_ for Mr. Compton, but she was aware that he was not among the strollers in the room, and Mrs. Bodehouse, full of gossip about the visitors to Bath, was a welcome relief from the unwanted attentions of Mr. Quinn.

'I had thought His Grace would be here this morning with the Dowager. Certainly she needs the waters,' Mrs. Bodehouse began, 'but they were at Lady Tisdale's ball last night and possibly are fatigued. Such a brilliant occasion, I've heard. Do you enjoy dancing, Mr. Quinn?'

'It depends on my partner, ma'am,' he answered. 'With the right partner it is a _pleasure_ indeed.'

His look at Sookie was all too meaningful. Sookie cringed inwardly and stepped imperceptibly closer to her aunt and Mrs. Bodehouse.

'But I haven't had much opportunity until now. My late wife had a sickly constitution, though her family kept it from me until after we were wed.' His face darkened. 'A pretty girl she was, but her looks were soon faded. Always ailing and all her babies died. The last one was a girl, a puny thing. She survived her mother and had to be put out to nurse, but she was too feeble and there was another funeral, all in the same year.' Mr. Quinn growled in irritation. 'They wanted to name her Harriet, like her mother, but I wouldn't do it. They had made a fool of John Quinn, but that was over. And now that I am rid of her, things are going to be different. My dancing days are just beginning.'

He smiled on the three ladies. A certain look passed between Lady Marksby and Mrs. Bodehouse. Mr. Quinn's lack of breeding was 'rather disconcerting,' as Lady Marksby remarked after Mrs. Bodehouse had drawn her away to greet some old acquaintance.

'So true,' her friend agreed, 'but what is to be done? Look about you, Caroline. So many young men, agreeable, with pleasing address, from good families, either younger sons who need to marry for money, or heirs whose families are looking for a large fortune or noble blood, or both.'

Lady Marksby had to agree.

'And Susannah, with her breeding and elegance, will give him just the touch he needs.'

Lady Marksby nodded. 'And she has considerable skill and address. She will be able to teach without offending. I think,' she judged calmly, 'that he wants to learn.'

Sookie, very weary of Mr. Quinn's presence, had thoughts different from those of the elder ladies. She listened politely while Mr. Quinn was telling her of the money he had spent on Quinn Manor, just a few miles from Bath.

'It used to be named Edgerton Farm. But when I came into money, I knew I had to change the name. I am simply too _important_ to live in a residence with someone else's name. To look at it now, you would never know that it had been a farmhouse. And you must admit Miss Stackhouse that Quinn Manor is a rather grand sounding name.'

Mr. Quinn turned to Sookie expectantly, waiting for her acquiescence. She simply nodded, feeling ill at Mr. Quinn's obvious vulgarity.

'I've bought land and there are walks about the house and a flower garden and shrubberies. And it has been new-furnished, though some rooms I have left for the next lady of the house to arrange as she wishes.'

'Most thoughtful of you,' Sookie remarked politely and was disturbed to see him receive this with beaming satisfaction.

She looked round for her aunt, who seemed to have been absent for a very long time. She was disgusted with Mr. Quinn, not just for his manners, which perhaps he could not help, but from the coldness of his heart and the cruelty he had been proud to describe. From her life in the country, she had known people of rough demeanour and warm hearts. Her father, a deeply religious man, had taught her to respect goodness above fine manners, but Mr. Quinn had as little of one as he had the other, and she was determined to reject him – her aunt and Mrs. Bodehouse be damned!

Sookie knew she would have to bear her aunt's displeasure, but once she had made her decision, her spirits rose. The two other ladies returned at last, engaging Mr. Quinn in their conversation and leaving Sookie free to glance about as they promenaded round the Room, _not_ looking for Mr. Compton, she assured herself, but merely curious about the other visitors. She was glad _now_ that she had allowed her aunt to furnish her with new clothes, for it was clear that she would have made a very old-fashioned and shabby appearance among these ladies, who looked as though they had never worn a wool gown in all their lives.

Lady Marksby was saying good-bye to some acquaintance and they were preparing to leave when, suddenly, out of a swarm of people, Mr. Compton emerged and darted before Sookie.

'Miss Stackhouse!' Sookie smiled brightly at Mr. Compton.

'Mr. Compton.'

Mr. Quinn had gone to call his carriage. Mrs. Bodehouse, about to rejoin her husband, was arrested by the sight of the Dowager Duchess of Cherwell, Miss Hamby and a servant entering the Room, and she and Lady Marksby turned to comment. In the press of passers-by, Mr. Compton had the attention of Sookie all to himself.

'Miss Stackhouse, you have broken faith with me,' he said, but his eyes were bright with laughter. Sookie had thought they were the deepest black, but they were brown, brown flecked with hints of gold, the colour changing as they moved in the light.

'I took all morning to tie my cravat in a _Trone d'Amour_ – and devilish difficult it was – in order to impress you when I presented myself at Lady Marksby's only to find you had fled. And in the company of Mr. Quinn.' Mr. Compton wrinkled his nose in distaste. 'Why Miss Stackhouse, my collar points are wilting from the mortification.'

'Perhaps you brought the Throne of Love to be viewed by all the ladies of Bath,' Sookie retorted. 'Such prodigal affection deserves but a short life.'

Mr. Compton laughed out loud. 'A very proper reproof,' he said, 'but I assure you, Miss Stackhouse, that I am willing, anxious, to endow one goddess with all my worship, if she is willing to smile upon me and welcome me into her celestial sphere.'

'Thrones and celestial spheres! What are you like, Mr. Compton. No country girl like myself can follow you in these exultations. You have come here to take the waters, I assume?'

'You are being _missish_, Miss Stackhouse. But I forgive you, as you bring missishness itself into the realm of art.' Mr. Compton's eyes smouldered and Sookie felt herself blush at his compliment.

Lady Marksby had noticed the sparkling young people and saw other eyes upon them. She moved forwards, greeted Mr. Compton, and swept Sookie away, but not before Mr. Quinn had seen them. He insisted on driving them back to the house, though his face was as dark as Compton's was bright. Neither of these manifestations of feeling displeased Lady Marksby.

Sookie had cause to be thankful, however; her aunt did not invite Mr. Quinn to dine and indeed did not mention him for the rest of the day.

Bath, perhaps, was not so disagreeable after all.

Mr. Compton and Mr. Quinn were constant callers at the house on the Crescent. Sookie had no lack of partners at the balls in the Assembly Rooms, but at least one of her two devoted admirers was bound to be there, usually both, trying to fill her card. Insisting on propriety, Lady Marksby saw that other gallants had their chance.

The two ladies were invited to evening parties – something that Sookie had not known at the Grange. These receptions with card playing and refreshments, brought large groups of people together – far more than could have been accommodated in a dining room – and were almost as popular with the young ladies as the balls.

Mr. Quinn was not seen as often at these private gatherings – 'He is not as yet well-known in Bath,' Mrs. Bodehouse explained, which made them all the more pleasant for Sookie. The concerts were a particular delight, hearing a fine professional play or sing. Mr. Quinn was not too fond of music but sometimes roused himself for the sake of being at her side; and at parties, concerts and balls, Mr. Compton was always present.

Lady Marksby and Mrs. Bodehouse watched and waited.

'The gallants are flocking around her,' Lady Marksby observed to her friend at a ball in the Upper Rooms. 'I heard young Lord Henley say, "What a sight to behold! The loveliest girl in England in the finest ballroom in Europe."'

'Quite true, Caroline,' Mrs. Bodehouse replied with a sigh, 'but Lord Henley falls in love every season and in the end will marry his cousin Emily, a girl who is as awkward as a young colt and as dull as a sheen because his family will have it so. He is not independent.'

'Captain Roberts has called five times.'

'And Susannah is the toast of the mess, but it does not signify. I dined at Lady Bonham's and they talked of Miss Susannah. Even the most vinegary of the old ladies spoke well of her – it is her manner, Caroline, so soft and yet with so much dignity that wins them. The gentlemen are certainly wild about her beauty, but it is known that she has no fortune. She is without doubt the belle of the Season, and among themselves, the young men call her "the Cinderella".'

The ladies sighed. Mrs. Bodehouse's brow wrinkled.

'Now, if there had been an elderly widower, a man whose family fortunes were all secured, he might be able to please himself with a young and penniless girl. It happened just a year ago to the youngest Elliot girl, a pretty little thing, but could not hold a candle to Susannah. He has a bad reputation, though, and her life won't be all roses. And at the last, everything will go to his sons…'

Lady Marksby's thoughts were not too pleasant as she rode home that night beside her radiant niece. Mr. Compton, a real gallant, was driving his curricle behind them: 'To see you safe home, ladies,' he had said when he handed Sookie into her aunt's carriage. _Susannah does not freeze at _his _touch_, Lady Marksby thought wryly.

She sent her niece to bed, but she herself lingered over a glass of orange wine in the dining room, her mind still too active for sleep. The belle of the season. The toast of Bath. And a Cinderella.

Could there be a Prince Charming?

Lady Marksby was not a romantic, but for her niece's sake, she certainly wished for one.

Breakfast was always a pleasant meal in the little house. The breakfast parlour caught the early morning sun and the ladies, refreshed by their night's sleep, made their plans for the day. By the end of their fourth week, however, Lady Marksby was very conscious of the passage of time and was frowning over her newspaper.

Opposite her was Sookie, beautiful in her youth, reminding her of her duty, but what more could be done? Lady Marksby had been busy in securing invitations to the right houses. She had induced the Bodehouses, much to the chagrin of the lazy Mr. Bodehouse, to give a large dinner for the best of their acquaintance, the better to display her niece. Admirers had come swarming and she had dealt with them properly. There were the fortune hunters like the dissolute young Bingham, whose pursuit of Susannah could not be honourable and were dismissed without ceremony. Then there were the gentleman sincere in their attentions but too poor to be eligible, like Mr. Crosby, the vicar of a poor parish in an unheard-of part of London.

She sighed. The newspaper was dull, full of news of the campaign in the Peninsula. Boney, it was said, seemed all too often ready for Wellington's next move. There has been talk of this sort by the gentleman at the Bodehouse dinner as some officers had been present. She remarked on it to Susannah.

'Oh, yes, Aunt. I remember. Colonel Jameson was quite outspoken. He was speaking across the table to Major Tompsett, so I could not help hearing. He was fuming that the Regent has so many friends among the French émigrés and he fears that they may be disloyal.'

'I recall it. Very bad form at a dinner in Bath. And Jane's only way of handling it was to withdraw the ladies too soon from the dining parlour. I had not yet finished my wine. Of course, it only meant that the men would spend even longer at table endlessly discussing the war.'

'But Aunt, surely you cannot fault the men. It is all terribly exciting. Why just the other day, Mr. Compton and I were having quite the rousing discussion on Napoleon's advance into Belgium. And those poor émigrés! It must be so hard for them,' Sookie said thoughtfully. 'Not in their own country and constantly under a cloud of suspicion.'

Lady Marksby looked up startled. 'Susannah! I hope you do not talk to your admirers of such things. It is quite unsuitable for a girl. I know you are used to reading and thinking, and all sorts of other nonsense at the Grange, but it will not do here. As it was only to Mr. Compton, I will again let it pass. But, my dear, we _must_ keep our minds on our business. You are not here to talk politics. You are here to catch a husband!'

Sookie was subdued for the moment, doing her very best to reign in her temper. Her aunt had allowed her to visit the Lending Library, as many ladies of good family went there, but had adjured her to waste little time on her visit reading books. As she liked to read, she had got through her book at odd moments and now was ready to visit the Library again. But this did not seem an appropriate moment to suggest it.

Lady Marksby, turning to local news, had already forgotten Wellington's campaigns and was reviewing her own. She still permitted young Compton to dangle after Susannah, though he had made no proposal. She justified this to herself on three grounds: he was a friend of the Bodehouses, it kept the other gallants interested to see him at Susannah's feet, and it helped to keep Mr. Quinn at a distance.

Mr. Quinn had formally made his wishes known to Lady Marksby. She asked him not to speak to Susannah as yet; she would like them to know each other better and there were her father and grandmother to be consulted. She was not as nice in her judgment as Susannah; still she did not choose to have her niece take Mr. Quinn if she could do better. She wanted to see Susannah settled and secure, not unhappy. In Lady Marksby's eyes, Mr. Quinn was definitely a last resort.

She scanned the Bath paper for new arrivals as she did every day, but few people were arriving now and were only anxious mammas and their daughters. Lady Bonham had come with her four daughters. The Pump Room would be crowded with girls and old men.

Then a note came in from an old friend, begging Lady Marksby and Miss Susannah Stackhouse to attend a party that evening: _'Abominably short notice, but my sister-in-law arrived unexpectedly and she dearly loves a game of cards and, of course, delightful society, so I do implore you, Caroline, and your lovely niece…'_

Lady Marksby herself liked cards and society and she was soon in good spirits. She agreed to accompany her niece to the Lending Library, though with many warnings about the harmful effects of books: they would make her sparkling eyes dull and very soon put lines and wrinkles on her countenance.

It was a fine day, not too cool to promenade through the streets, and Sookie begged to walk.

'It feels more like spring than autumn. There is such freshness in the air,' Sookie said, delighted with her exercise.

Lady Marksby, contemplating the vigour of a young woman eagerly walking after a night in the ballroom while her own feet were aching, was moved to respond.

'What I see before me are a lot of dying leaves on the trees. October is almost upon us. The gentlemen are thinking of the shooting and will not be inclined to linger long in Bath.'

'Oh, Aunt, do cheer up,' said Sookie, too buoyed with hopes of her own to be easily cast down. She changed the subject to the possibilities of the evening before them, and the ladies entered the Lending Library still enjoying a cosy gossip. It seemed more crowded than usual, but that was only because a party of young gallants, lounging by the newspapers as they ogled the ladies, took up a great deal of room. Lady Marksby sailed past them as she saw a friend; Sookie drew in her skirts to avoid them and went to return her book.

She was ready to choose another when her attention was caught by a voice reading aloud. Looking up, she saw it was the young Miss Hamby, reading a newspaper to the Dowager. She read well and clearly, but the names of the foreign towns Cuidad Rodrigo and El Bodon, mentioned in the news of the campaign, tripped her tongue and she stuttered a little.

The gallants, with nothing better to do, laughed. Miss Hamby was modestly dressed. The Dowager Duchess, in her old-fashioned, heavy black pelisse and her outmoded hat, appeared to the undiscerning as a female of no consequence. A dandy with his collar points scraping his cheekbone put up his quizzing glass.

'Quite the blue-stocking. Not a bad performance, madam, but a _little _more industry is required…'

One of his companions, elegantly dressed but with a poor complexion, joined in the fun. 'C-cc-Cuidad – B-b-b-Bodon – that's much too much for a _wench_, Charles. Why, do you expect her to go the the P-p-p Peninsula?'

The Dowager, stiff with rage, called for her carriage. Miss Hamby was scarlet to the roots of her hair, which seemed to have turned an even redder shade in her humiliation. The cackle of the gallants, punctuated with peals of merriment, continued.

Sookie was struck with pity for the unlucky Miss Hamby, a pity warmed with sympathy and an urge to protect, for her own sister Hadley, had once suffered from a similar affliction in childhood and was teased mercilessly by the village children years ago.

Her voice rang out, clear and strong.

'These Spanish names are as hard to pronounce as the battles are to fight. But _of course_, they are no trouble to those who neither fight nor read,' said Sookie scathingly, her voice dripping with disdain.

Lady Marksby gave a startled glance. _Certainly these young jackanapes needed a set-down_, she thought,_ but it was most improper for a well-bred young lady to give it. Susannah has drawn attention_ _to herself besides, any observation, by a person of quality, on this unpleasant incident must disgust the Dowager._

The gallants were abashed. Miss Hamby, who had lowered her gaze, looked up to cast a grateful glance at Sookie. The Dowager, however, was impassive as she and Miss Hamby departed in dignified silence, and Lady Marksby was fretful.

'I am surprised, Susannah, surprised indeed,' she admonished her as they left. There was a decided chill in the air, Lady Marksby felt. 'That was quite – quite hoydenish in you. Not at all what is expected of Miss Susannah Stackhouse. More like your sister Arlene, who says everything that comes into that silly little head of hers. Why, I heard from Lady Bonham , while I was at the Grange, that Lennie has remarked in company that as young women so far outnumber the men in so many country places that perhaps they should be permitted – nay, _encouraged_ – to take several wives, as they do in foreign parts.'

Sookie repressed a smile. 'Lennie is a romp, it is true,' Sookie said tactfully, but could not forbear to add, 'but you must admit, Aunt, that there is something in what she says.'

'I admit no such thing,' Lady Marksby said crossly as Sookie giggled behind her gloved hand.

She was only soothed upon their return to the house by the sight of Mr. Compton, just arrived to make his morning call. _After all_, she thought later, _though the little meeting in the Lending Library had been unfortunate, no real harm was done_. The Cherwells entertained people of their own sort, the great old families of England. In Town, the Duke received guests from the political and diplomatic sphere because of his parliamentary interest. There would have been no invitations to a provincial Lady Marksby and her niece had Sookie been as serene as a seraph.

By the next morning, Lady Marksby was thoughtful again. Once more, there was a decided chill in the air – Bath would be emptying fast, leaving behind the invalids and the unfashionable. The previous day had been cheerful enough. Mr. Compton, despite his elegant manners, had lingered far too long for a morning call. His attentions to Susannah were marked; his eyes did not leave her person without effort and only his good breeding, it was clear, brought his attention back to his hostess.

She had been satisfied to note that his playful compliments to her niece were changing to remarks of a more particular sort. When she herself had spoken of the cooler weather, Compton argued vigourously.

'Don't talk to me of shooting weather – I will not allow it. To me, the Bath Season surely has just begun! I don't wish to hear of departing carriages and houses to let. These September days must go on and on, with just such a party of people as we have now meeting daily in friendly and delightful intercourse. What, would you have us scattered all over England when my heart is in Bath!'

There was a note of real feeling in his voice. Soon she had to leave the room on a household matter and she came back to find the two standing quite close, with Mr. Compton whispering in Sookie's ear. For a moment, with delight, she thought her wishes had been answered, but Sookie glided off to rearrange a bouquet and, after ascertaining that they would meet again that evening, Mr. Compton took his leave.

She asked Sookie directly what had occurred and Sookie told her he had been begging for a lock of her hair to braid into a signet ring. She had just refused his request when Lady Marksby had arrived.

'Quite proper, Susannah. I would expect nothing less of a Hale girl,' was all she said.

The evening had been agreeable and she had enjoyed herself vastly, but there had been no new eligible gentlemen present. Compton had been openly attentive to Susannah, enough to draw all eyes upon them, but he had not, as yet, said anything of importance to herself.

Now there was a note in her hand, just delivered by a servant of Mr. Quinn. It was an invitation to dine at Quinn Manor on the morrow to meet his sister, just arrived in Bath. The meeting of the invitation was quite clear. The dinner was the occasion to introduce the Quinn family to his betrothed. He was forcing her hand. Lady Marksby had no dinner engagement for the next day, and a refusal would be tantamount to rejecting his proposal for Susannah.

Now they could not go to the Pump Room as she had planned, for they would be certain to meet him there and she was undecided. She called her carriage and took Susannah on a morning call to Mrs. Bodehouse for consultation. Mr. Bodehouse had tired of taking the waters and husband and wife were in the house, already making arrangements for a visit to a place in Suffolk where Mr. Bodehouse had been promised some good shooting.

While Sookie talked to Mr. Bodehouse about country life, Mrs. Bodehouse gave her opinion.

'I think you must accept, Caroline. I have not met Mr. Quinn's sister, but I have heard that she married a man with a substantial property in the north and is quite respectable, not too young. Certainly not someone you would know in Town, but she does not go to Town, so that will not trouble you. You don't have to engage Susannah because of one dinner – you have sufficient address to avoid that. Though I think you will come to it soon enough.'

'I fear you are right, Jane. I would be loathed to give Susannah to Mr. Quinn, but she cannot be allowed to leave Bath without a suitable arrangement in place,' Lady Marksby sighed. Despite appearances, Lady Marksby did want Susannah to be happy in her choice of husband. She was fond of the girl, but she could not allow her personal feelings to override her sense of duty and the promise she made to her dear sister.

With such thoughts whirring in her head, Lady Marksby returned to her own establishment to find, to her great surprise, that cards had been left by Lady Cherwell and Miss Hamby. Before she had finished exclaiming to Susannah about this attention, a vey grand manservant in colourful livery arrived at the door bearing an invitation for Lady Marksby and Miss Susannah Stackhouse to dine the next evening.

Lady Marksby sat down at her writing table at once and wrote her acceptance while the servant waited. Almost immediately thereafter, she wrote another note and dispatched it by a groom to Quinn Manor. Her apologies were profuse: she and her niece would have been delighted to dine with Mr. Quinn and his sister, but unfortunately they had a previous engagement to dine with the Duke and Dowager Duchess Cherwell'. She hoped that Mrs. Madden would be staying in Bath a few days, so that she might have the privilege of calling upon her.

Sookie did not doubt this courtesy sprang from Miss Hamby's gratitude and the good breeding of the family. She must, in turn, be grateful, but if she had been willing to examine her feelings closely, Sookie would have been forced to admit that the invitation would have caused more joy if it came from Lady Compton, mother of William Compton, although that lady was at her country home with the Viscount in Buckinghamshire.

She listened, however, with a proper demeanour to her aunt's transports in wondering whether this invitation in Bath would extend to an acquaintance in Town and if it would induce her husband to take a house in Town next Season.

Lady Marksby learned from the coachman that the house the Northmans stayed in was not taken for the Season but was part of the Cherwell estate and was closed up when not in use by the family. Sookie felt the difference as she entered the fine old house on Royal Crescent; although it was grand to the girl from Grange Hill, there was all the same something of a home about it, settled and solidly comfortable, without the confusion of objects scattered by tenants over the furniture left for their use. The portraits on the walls were those of Northmans through the last few centuries, going back beyond the granting of the dukedom, when they were merely earls. Sookie paused before a full-length figure of a distinguished and handsome man in hunting pink who might have been the present Duke but who, she later learned, was his grandfather.

'By Van Dyck,' The Dowager remarked, pleased by Sookie's interest. 'Not one of his noted works, but the resemblance to my son is often observed. The Fourth Duke was also interested in affairs of the state.'

'Indeed, ma'am. The Fourth Duke was a very handsome man, as is His Grace. Is there not a portrait of the late Duke?' Sookie enquired politely.

'Yes. A Gainsborough,' answered the Dowager, nodding towards a portrait further down the hall. 'One of his most famous.' The Dowager inclined her head closer to Sookie and said quietly, 'Thrown from his horse, the poor fellow. He was in his prime, not yet forty. A terrible end indeed. But the portrait is magnificent. Gainsborough captured my husband in the very best light.'

Sookie looked up at the grand portrait of the late Duke in his riding clothes. She was again struck by the resemblance to the present Duke. Though the late Duke's hair was black as coal, his eyes were the same arctic blue, his lips full and sensual, and his jaw strong and chiseled. He was tall and well-formed, commanding, even in portrait.

'Come my dear,' said the Dowager, smiling slightly at Sookie. 'Dinner waits for no lady and my son is stickler for punctuality.'

It was a small family dinner, to Lady Marksby's slight chagrin, with only two elderly gentlemen, Lord Danforth and Sir Owen Humphrey, friends of the late Duke, added to the party.

Lady Marksby was seated to the right of the Duke and they conversed pleasantly. 'I declare,' she was to tell Sookie later, 'people say the Duke is so stern and aloof, but I found him charming indeed. And so terribly handsome. It is always the case, however, when they speak of someone quite above their touch.'

Sookie had taken her place at the table with some trepidation. With Cherwell at one end and the Dowager Duchess at the other, it had looked rather daunting. She spoke to Sir Owen who sat beside her, and after some conversation about the curative properties of the mineral waters she found he was a retired military man, a general, happy to instruct her in the finer points of the later campaign.

Miss Hamby blushed when they met and looked shy, but as Sookie's partner was describing the problems of transport over some hilly terrain the eyes of the young ladies met and Sookie detected a slight amusement on Miss Hamby's face at her predicament.

Sookie used to her brother Jason's military fervour, managed to acquit herself well enough, and the Dowager looked pleased at Sir Owen's enjoyment.

'Oh you are a firecracker, Miss Stackhouse! Utterly delightful,' Sir Owen proclaimed clapping his hands together, causing the Duke to regard Sookie for a long moment. She had noticed that the Duke's eyes had strayed to her several times during the course of dinner and she tried her best not to blush, but failed miserably.

Eric Northman, 9th Duke of Cherwell, noticed the red blush quickly spreading across Miss Stackhouse's creamy skin. Her hair was done in a fashionable chignon and the honeyed locks gleamed in the candlelight. Her eyes were blue, like the brightest sapphires and her lips a delicate rosebud pink. The Duke could not deny that Miss Stackhouse was exceptionably lovely. He had seen his fair share of celebrated beauties, but there was something about Miss Stackhouse… innocence, a genuine naivety, perhaps, that charmed him. She glowed, practically radiated light and to one with as tarnished and blackened a soul as his, her light called to him – quelled the darkness raging within. Sookie's delightful laugh drew the Duke from his heavy thoughts.

'How so, sir? I only say what I think,' Sookie replied to Sir Owen.

'And that, my dear, is what I find so delightful. A young girl, who speaks her mind and with a great dollop of sense to boot? Why is it remarkable,' said Sir Owen with a twinkle in his eye.

'You do my sex a great disservice,' Sookie huffed with false indignation. 'Why I shall have you know, sir, that there is many a young lady interested in the war. Indeed, perhaps Parliament should listen to the sense of ladies every once in a while. Mayhap, war could be avoided altogether,' declared Sookie.

Sir Owen guffawed heartily, enjoying Miss Susannah Stackhouse's fire. Noticing the Duke's rapt attention, he turned and addressed his host.

'Did you hear that Cherwell? Miss Stackhouse believes ladies should advise Parliament on matters of state. What say you then, my boy?'

'I say, that ladies of breeding should concentrate on domestic matters and leave war-making to those more capable,' said Eric condescendingly.

Sookie felt her cheeks burn with indignation. 'And when you say, "those who are more capable", what you mean to say, are men,' challenged Sookie, much to the distress of her aunt, who groaned internally at her niece's daring. Lady Marksby looked over at Sookie and gave her a warning glare.

Sookie chose to ignore her aunt and looked at the Duke expectantly.

'That is exactly what I mean, Miss Stackhouse. The fairer sex are gifted at many things, but I believe war-making is not one of them. No, Miss Stackhouse, I think you would do well to leave military speculation to the men,' finished Eric with a superior smirk.

Sookie's eyes flashed with anger at the Duke's haughty attitude. As she was about to offer her rebuttal, Sir Owen interjected with a merry laugh.

'_That_ is because you have never been married, my boy!' Sir Owen clapped the Duke on the back and the table broke out in nervous laughter. 'I assure you, dear boy, a wife is armed with all the weapons necessary for war.' He turned to Lord Danforth with a conspiratorial wink. 'Eh, eh, Harry,' he said.

'Indeed, sir, indeed,' Lord Danforth, chuckled good-naturedly.

After more laughter, normal dinner conversation resumed, though Sookie still seethed from the Duke's comment. She had decided then and there that she did not like the Duke, despite his good looks. She found him to be pompous and arrogant and no amount of praise from her aunt would change her opinion of him.

When the ladies withdrew, Sookie spoke with Miss Hamby, who thanked her for her assistance in the Lending Library. 'For really, Miss Stackhouse, I did not know where to look. It is unfortunate that I have this affliction; it has been so since I learned to speak. Her Grace believes if I read aloud my speech will improve, but as you heard…'

Her voice faded as she seemed to be embarrassed by her confession and her hands were pleating the folds of her muslin gown. The Dowager looked at her and she blushed, and Sookie was again moved to pity.

'My sister Hadley tried reading aloud for the same complaint,' Sookie told her. 'But we find when she is happy and comfortable she speaks well enough.'

Miss Hamby had known no other sufferer and was interested to hear of the remedies Hadley had tried, and the talk went on to Hill Grange .

'What a joy it must have been to have siblings!' Miss Hamby remarked wistfully. 'To live in a bustling family.'

Having lost both parents while she was still a child, Miss Hamby had been brought up by governesses. And though Sookie knew the loss of a mother, she had always had her grandmamma and papa to care for her. Sookie, accustomed to hearing her grandmother deploring her lot as a woman with a large family to be placed in the world with almost no means to do it, perceived that the life of a great heiress had its own pains and penalties, but she held her own counsel.

'Indeed, Miss Hamby, I can confess to never having been in want of company,' Sookie said with a smile.

Sookie and Miss Hamby were summoned by the Dowager. Her Grace, it seemed, was interested in matters of health. She inquired of Lady Marksby about the health of Sookie's family and of Sookie herself.

'For you do not have a country complexion, Miss Stackhouse. There is no lung disease in the family, I hope.'

'No, Your Grace,' Lady Marksby said, startled. 'None at all. And my niece is in excellent health.'

The Dowager turned away, apparently satisfied, and then the gentlemen came in and the subject was changed.

Sookie's dinner partner sat at her side and resumed his discussion of Lord Wellington's tactics. Sookie saw the Duke's eyes upon her and she stiffened. Their eyes met for the briefest moment and the Duke smirked at Sookie's discomfort. Then he turned and had a word with the Dowager, who asked Lady Marksby if Miss Stackhouse could be persuaded to favour them with a song.

'Your aunt,' Eric said, addressing Sookie for the first time since their disagreement at the dining table, 'has been telling us of your proficiency, Miss Stackhouse. Please, honour us.' Eric bowed slightly and gestured to the grand pianoforte in the far corner of the room.

Sookie stood and took her place quietly at the pianoforte. If she wished her aunt had been less busy, her manner did not show. The instrument was a fine one, well tuned and had the most intricate parquetry Sookie had ever seen. Knowing that the Duke and Dowager had opportunities to hear the finest performers, she played simple country melodies and sang, the room filling with her clear, sweet voice.

Eric listened with rapt attention. He did not know what had overcome him, how he could be moved by this slip of a girl. It was not like him to be so caught up in a female.

The Dowager noticed her son's marked interest in Miss Stackhouse and was intrigued. Though she knew that Miss Stackhouse had no fortune, she would not be opposed to her son courting the girl. Anything would be preferable to Mrs. Ravenscroft. If Miss Stackhouse could rid her son of his disastrous infatuation with that harlot, then the Dowager would happily endorse the match.

When Sookie finished with her song, Lady Marksby asked if Miss Hamby played or sang.

'Oh no! I… I couldn't. Please, Miss Stackhouse, I implore you to continue,' Miss Hamby said, blushing furiously.

_She is very different from the wild young woman Mrs. Bodehouse had described_, Sookie reflected. _Would a girl too timid to sing a song dare to elope with a lover? _

Miss Hamby seemed to have known and liked the country music; her lips moved slightly along with one of the more popular songs. Sookie, remembering another that her sister Hettie favoured, as it never tripped her tongue, began it, rather slowly, smiling at Miss Hamby.

She had certainly hit upon a favourite. Miss Hamby rose, came to Sookie's side, and sang it with her. Her voice was slight, but true, and the company applauded roundly, even the Duke.

'Bravo, Miss Stackhouse,' said Eric loudly. 'You have managed to turn our little mockingbird into a lark.'

Sookie blushed at the Duke's compliment and their gazes held for several moments. The look of admiration in the Duke's eyes was unmistakable. Sookie tried desperately to calm the hammering of heart.

The Duke was the first to break eye contact with Sookie and she returned to her seat beside her aunt. Soon after, the carriages were called, and Lady Marksby and Sookie made their farewells.

Both the Dowager and Lady Marksby were surprised when the Duke handed Sookie up into the carriage. Despite her decided dislike of the Duke, Sookie could not help the warm flush that crept across her face and neck at his close proximity.

'A pleasure, Miss Stackhouse, Lady Marksby,' said the Duke, bowing slightly as he placed a soft kiss upon Sookie's gloved hand. 'Until we meet again.'

Sookie shivered at the promise held in the Duke's voice.

_What is the matter with me?_ Sookie fumed inwardly._ He is arrogant and proud_ _and_ _I dislike him immensely and yet… he is so handsome…_

Sookie would not dare admit too herself that she was intrigued by the Duke. Despite his pomposity and conceit, she secretly admired him. If she were not careful, Sookie would be in great danger of losing her head, if not her heart, to Eric Northman.


End file.
